


Twenty Two Decembers

by writentoon



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Children, Familial Relationships, Fantasy, Growing Up, POV Third Person, Sci-Fi, Sirens, Tattoos, Video & Computer Games, acquaintices, friendships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:58:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writentoon/pseuds/writentoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Rhy stated that it wasn't easy getting to where he was, it's his simplest way to describe his entire life was like. When your life starts out with being the son to a single mother who was often away on archaeological digs and harbors her own secrets, life tends to amp up the difficulty for you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sixth December

_A hand drops down onto a solid surface, with the splash of thick red fluid flying from underneath a damaged palm. Fingers curl, scraping, splintering themselves slightly against the wood. The rest of the body ambles closely to a seat, collapsing when the decision to rest is chosen. The chest heaves, groans and aches from the throat echoing the pace of the breath's movement. Occasionally, gulping occurs; The adam's apple bopping up and down in distress._ _The remaining hand goes to grab a boxy, black radio-like object._

_The hands team up to manipulate the dials present on the device, and places it up near a male face. "Dear...echodiary. Rhys here--again. Ha, man have I lost track of what day it is," He looks downward, noticing the gigantic spotting of red on his black coat. "Guess that won't matter soon. Well...remember how I said I promised to document each day of my life back when mom left for a dig during my sixth December? I uh--kinda broke that promise when that stolen ten grand didn't go as planned. Sorry mom. But, I did managed to find that ECHO recorder of yours; Never thought I'd find it hiding in Handsome Jack's desk drawers. Whatever you found, must've been important enough to only be home two days out of the week. Today, after getting into...that mess, I'll end the recording here. Listen to whatever I recorded in the past, maybe...match it up to your entries?"_

_He ceases his speech, and handles the dials again. Sounds from the recorder begin to play, sometimes with minor static popping..._

 

 **"Dear** echodiary. You're okay with me calling you that? Okay, well, I am Rhys. It's a bit hard to talk without my front teeth, but that is okay, I think you can understand that," Chirps a tiny boy, his pronunciation of "s" intruded by "th." "Mom gave me you before she left for another dig. She says it's far from where you and me are. She asked if I can promise her to record my adventures daily. I did not do too much; I mostly held down the house again like I do each day," Rhys scurried across the floor, his footsteps muffled against the fake wood. He scampered past the hallway, and into a large room, where he leaped onto a sofa, and clambered his way to the top. Rhys leaned against the edge, his body cradled its small weight as he looked through a clear window. "I know you cannot see like I can, since you're a machine, but it's snowing hard. No intruders too!" An arm glided across his nose, followed by gross sniffling. "If mom was here, she would tell me to stop rubbing my nose because of the germs. I cannot visit Vaughn today because of my sickness," Rhys slid down from his tricky perch, plopped the ECHO recorder besides him, and clutched his covered feet. "He would like my new pajamas my mom got me from her last dig. There is stars ALL OVER THEM! She says the people on Old Earth call them footsies." He continued his slump, and stretched. "But because she is not here..." He shifted his glance from one corner to the next corner of the room, "I can go get my favorite ice cream without her ever knowing!" He jumped from his spot, nearly initiated a sprint, but halted and shifted back to where the recorder was. "Oh, almost forgot to turn you off," Rhys pressed down on a red button, then went back to his run. "OKAY ICE CREAM I AM NOW GOING TO EAT YOU ALL UP!"


	2. Home for the Weekend

**"Dear** echodiary, I--" Rhys was disrupted by the tiny clicks and turns of the front door. He dropped the recorder, forgetting to cease its action, and rushed to the front entrance. He grinned wide, and jumped onto a women's leg as she entered. "MOM!"

"How's my little peanut butter cup?" Cooed the mother. She bent down to fiddle with his mop of dark brown hair.

Instinctively, his body's reaction was to swat her gloved hand, and he moaned, "Mom, you're getting me all dirty!" His hair certainly obtained some of the pasty dust and minute particles, the follicles became slightly streaked with ruddy brown by the disperse of dried mud.

Her light chuckle is led by a bright, caring grin; She stopped as requested, and slung a large shoulder bag off of her back, and proceeded to tug each glove off of her hands, then tucked them into a side pocket of the bag. Rhys' mother grabbed her son's tiny hand, and the two headed out of the main room.

They entered to the right, closed the sliding glass door when they passed through, and Rhys climbed a chair, and settled himself in the seat as his mother walked over to a sink, washed her hands with cold water, and She filled a steel pot with water, before she arrived at a stove. She rested the pot on top, heat from the stove caused the water to create invisible, mild steam.

"So how's January been while I was away? Sorry I couldn't be there with you that entire time..." Rhys' mother's voice died slightly at the end of her second sentence as she fetched a box of uncooked pasta.

Rhys quietly twirled a fork on the plate sitting in front of him. Nothing was said for a moment, but he eventually spoke, "It was...good. I got sick--but then I got to see Vaughn. Then he got sick..."

"Well that's what happens when you spend so much time with someone WHILE you still have the flu honey," She drops the delicate sticks of hardened dough into the water. The tone of the next sentence is feebly weaved. "I swear it feels like you're more a part of his family, just by how you two simultaneously catch colds whenever I'm gone." She then leans against the adjacent counter, sighing as she peered down at her clothing; Wavy strands of flush white salt clung to the textiles, sometimes mixing with the mottled stains of mud. "Rhys, once I get all cleaned up for the night, is there something you'd like to do?"

"Can we play Starbust?" He piped eagerly.

Rhys' mother smiled, quietly laughed, "Oh, that old video game? Sure."

 

_**"Starbust?**  Can't believe I still remember that old thing. Mom, didn't you say you got that off your girlfriend in high school? Y'know, when the two of you started dating?" Rhys struggles with swiveling his left arm, the joints clattering and popping. Motors and crooked gears fights to create any movement; Eventually, they managed to open up his palm. Broken flickering sparks from the glassy center of his hand, and ignites the showcase of a holographic screen. In bulky, awkward lettering the logo "STARBUST" appears, leading "Press anywhere on the screen to begin." He manipulates a weak movement in his pinkie finger to activate the game. "Mom, I'll beat your high score this time..."_

 

 **Young** Rhys rushed to his mother's study to initiate setup of a boxy antique system; The blocky nature, the sturdy case, the scuffed wear...the thing felt like it could flop over and die any second. However, the damaged button for the eject tray succeeded to finally function after Rhys' fifth attempt to insert the CD. It struggled to remain closed the fourth previous tries, but that's why it was handy to keep his mother's old textbooks from her college years nearby. Nothing but the classical usage of heavy weight will always come through with troubleshooting stubborn lids on ancient consoles!

He sat, faced the wall in front of him, watched as a light holographic projection engulfed the plain space above, as he cradled the player 1 controller in his hands. The logo, "STARBUST," appears in its awkward lettering, and he proceed to dive further into the virtual content. His head craned to the right; Rhys drew his attention towards the sound of his mother's footsteps as she sauntered in, exhausted, and dropped her ass onto the floor beside him.

She clutched the player 2 controller, her head cocked to the left as she halfway dozes off.

"Mom, you ready to pl--" Rhys poked his face deeply into her personal space, observed how her breathing had begun to slow, her eyelids draped heavily, and the obnoxious droll of snoring just started. Rhys puckered his cheeks inward a tad. "Oh, I guess it's okay for you to sleep now," He paused the game, and hauled with all his little might to drag a heavy comforter off her bed, careful to not knock over the tarnished plaque labeled, "Prof. Brachen," off her nightstand. He slumped the large comforter along his tiny shoulders, wobbled sometimes as he walked, and wrapped it around his mother's body.

Rhys seated himself down near the console again, and stared at the score board after completing one round. "Morrigan Brachen: 9,720, 889 points," He compared hers to his score, "Rhys Brachen: 7,779, 000 points...I'm a bit closer to her score this time. Mom has that score for years." He quietly looks at the leaning parent in slumber. "It'd be great if you saw this mom..."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fanfiction started out with some ideas and guesses on why Rhys has his blue tattoo. Then it dived into the idea of writing a fanfiction based around Rhys' life while growing up and the affects it had on him up to when he obtains his first job on Helios. As for the tattoo's origin in this fanfiction, let's just say it may have to do with someone's death.
> 
> I'll be sort of writing as I go, so the plotline may get a bit "eh" at times. This fanfiction will be updated each time I add a little bit more to it, so consider it a frequent WIP. Critique is highly appreciated!


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